


The Eagle, The Dove

by bone_orchard



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Not Skaters, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Choking, College Student Victor Nikiforov, College Student Yuri Plisetsky, Consensual Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Face-Fucking, High School Teacher Yuuri, Infidelity, M/M, Manipulative Victor, Masochism, Not Underage, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, People Being Terrible, Power Dynamics, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sadism, Sex Toys, Single Dad Katsuki Yuuri, Under-negotiated Kink, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-04-04 22:43:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14030433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bone_orchard/pseuds/bone_orchard
Summary: Viktor Nikiforov likes summer nights, the color red, and his boyfriend’s father. Katsuki Yuuri is a man with morals that waver under bright blue eyes and pretty pink lips.They’re a disaster from beginning to end.Or;Yuuri is Yuri’s father, Viktor is Yuri’s boyfriend, and no one is here for love stories.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [incarnadyne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/incarnadyne/gifts).



> This fic involves Viktor manipulating and seducing Yuri to get to Yuuri, and using the same tactics on him. Yuuri’s no saint either. There are references to an underage Viktor fantasizing about Yuuri. 
> 
> As always, mind the tags, mind the summary, proceed with caution.
> 
> chiinoiserie on tumblr drew some lovely art for this fic - [you can find it here.](https://chiinoiserie.tumblr.com/post/172450829977/day-010418-fan-art-for-the-eagle-the-dove-by)

Viktor watches the muscles shifting in Yuuri’s arm, thick cords straining under smooth skin a shade darker than Viktor’s own. He has imagined a million times how their bodies would look all tangled together, Viktor’s lither frame swallowed up in Yuuri.

“Is this the last box?” Yuuri asks, a hint of a pant in his voice, and Viktor is forced to turn away for a moment, to shake off the hunger gleaming in his eyes and return to the version of himself that Yuuri knows best; sweet, bubbly Vitya with not a bad bone in his body.

“Yes!” he chirps, beaming up at Yuuri. “Thank you, Mr. Katsuki!”

Yuuri ducks his head, smiling that strangely bashful smile he sports whenever Viktor says something nice to him. It’s better than the blank incomprehension or shifty discomfort he shows when other people do it, but Viktor still has to wonder why someone as wonderful as Yuuri is so unaware of himself.

“Ah, Viktor, I told you not to call me that. I’m not your teacher anymore.”

“It’s habit,” Viktor says. “Besides, you won’t call me Vitya either and I keep asking.”

“Habit,” Yuuri parrots with a smile that makes his eyes crinkle. “Fine, if I call you Vitya, will you just call me Yuuri? It’ll be weird to be called Mr. Katsuki in my home. I feel like I’m in the classroom.”

“Oh,” Viktor breathes, voice lowered, not suggestive but not innocent. “I’m sure there are many things you could teach me even now. But deal! Call me Vitya, _Yuuri_ , and I’ll return the favor.”

Yuuri just shakes his head, lips quirking.

When he makes to leave the room, Viktor stops him with a hand on Yuuri’s arm. He wants to press down with his fingers and feel the strength in his muscles, but he twists his other hand in his pants and bites down the urge.

“Thank you, really, for letting me stay here. You didn’t have to.”

Yuuri turns around, the motion making Viktor’s hand fall from his arm.

“It’s no matter. Your aunt shouldn’t have done that to you in the first place.”

Viktor shrugs, the nonchalance genuine for once.

“It’s fine. They took care of me until I was eighteen. It was all they had to do. But I could have stayed in the dorms. You didn’t have to offer me a place under our own roof. So thank you.”

“Viktor, _Vitya_ , you hated the dorms,” Yuuri says, amused.

Viktor shoots Yuuri a bashful smile, everything from the delicate fall of his hair to the pink on his cheeks carefully calculated.

“Yes, well, it’s not everyday people let their son’s boyfriend live with them. Who knows all the trouble we might get into?”

“I really don’t want to know,” Yuuri tells him, still smiling. “It’s fine, I trust you both. You’re good kids.”

With that, he leaves the room.

“I’m not a kid,” Viktor calls after him. “I’m nineteen!”

Yuuri’s laughter echoes down the hallway.

 

* * *

 

Living with his boyfriend is nice, uneventful.

Like Yuuri said, Yuri’s a good kid. Loud and quick to anger, but the former has its own charm, and he’s actively working on the latter ever since that incident in junior year of high school when he beat up a kid so bad that he had to be sent to the hospital. Viktor personally remembers that incident fondly because the guy Yuri hurt was harassing Viktor, and Yuri had descended on him like a small, angry knight in faded jeans. More importantly, it was what led him to know that Mr. Katsuki, the P.E teacher, was Yuri’s father; a single father.

Yuri’s a good kid. Viktor is not.

If he were, he wouldn’t be lusting after a man twice his age while fucking his son to get closer to him. At the very least, he’d feel some guilt.

Under him, Yuri writhes and muffles his screams and drags his nails down Viktor’s back.

Viktor barely sees him and when he comes, the name he calls out is Yuri’s, but it’s Yuuri that he sees behind his lids.

“Fuck,” Yuri pants into Viktor’s ear. “What’s gotten into you tonight?”

The issue is what didn’t get into him.

He saw Yuuri shirtless today, weeding the moderately sized vegetable garden in the backyard. Muscles rippling with each motion, skin glistening with sweat, jeans riding low on his hips – Viktor wanted nothing more than to drop to his knees and let that man wreck him.

“Nothing,” Viktor says, smirking. “Can’t I want to fuck my hot boyfriend’s brains out?”

Yuri, sweet boy that he is, blushes furiously.

“Fuck you,” he says without heat. “Ugh, I hope the old man didn’t hear us.”

Viktor hopes he did, hopes he’ll remember what Viktor sounded like in the throes of passion.

To Yuri, he hums noncommittally and rolls out of bed, wiping himself off and yanking on his shorts.

“Good night,” he says with a kiss to Yuri’s pretty blond hair. Yuri bats at him and turns over in bed, snuggling into his sheets and almost immediately falling asleep.

Viktor makes the silent trek to his bedroom, hoping beyond reason that he’ll see Yuuri on the way.

He doesn’t, but he will tonight, in his deepest, darkest dreams.

 

* * *

 

It’s two months in that he makes a move.

And it can be an innocent mistake, really. After all, Yuri and Yuuri are both seated opposite Viktor on the dinner table. It’s a simple accident for his foot to slip and trace its way up Yuuri’s leg rather than his son’s.

He gets as far as the ankle before Yuuri shoots out of his seat, eyes wide and harried.

“Uh, I, sauce! Needs more sauce,” he babbles and all but flees into the kitchen.

Viktor watches him go, amused and disappointed.

Yuri is staring after his father, fork halfway to his mouth.

“What the hell,” he says, voice blank. “Dad has finally gone senile. Fuck.”

“I’m sure he has his reasons,” Viktor says with a winsome smile.

Yuuri returns eventually and doesn’t meet either of their eyes for the rest of the meal. After dinner, Viktor insists on helping with the clean up despite Yuuri’s slightly desperate protests. Yuri rolls his eyes at them and climbs back upstairs, phone already in hand.

They wash the dishes in silence and afterward, Viktor sidles up to Yuuri.

“I’m sorry, Yuuri,” he says, affecting contrition. “That was – um, a mistake. I meant – well, I–”

“It’s fine,” Yuuri cuts in, looking like he wants to slap his hand over Viktor’s mouth. “Just be more…discreet. Not at dinner, Viktor.”

“Okay,” Viktor whispers and droops a little.

Yuuri’s hand hesitantly comes to rest on his shoulder.

“Hey, Vitya, it’s really fine,” Yuuri says, gentler this time. “I get it, I was young too once.”

Viktor eschews the obvious option and throws himself at Yuuri, arms locking around his middle.

“I really appreciate everything you’re doing,” he murmurs to the stiff form in his arms, backing away the next second, before Yuuri pushes him away – or feels the little problem that has sprung to life in Viktor’s pants.

He flashes Yuuri a bright smile and walks out of the kitchen.

Soon.

 

* * *

 

Ironically, it’s Yuri that gives him the perfect opportunity.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go?” Yuuri asks him over breakfast, Yuri fast asleep in bed.

“He’s going with his friends. I barely know any of them. Besides, I have better plans for the summer.”

Viktor winks, and Yuuri doesn’t seem pleased, but he doesn’t force the issue. And really, Viktor is being honest. Mila, Sara, Yuri, and Otabek going on a road-trip is all fine and well, but Viktor has no intention of intruding on it just because he’s Yuri’s boyfriend, especially when declining the offer gives him the opportunity to spend two weeks all alone with the only reason he ever started dating Yuri.

Yuri hardly seems torn up about leaving Viktor either. It’s the way they are. He still smiles, faint and pleased, when Viktor tugs at his hair and kisses him goodbye at the door.

And then it’s just Viktor and Yuuri.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri, he learns, volunteers at the local animal shelter every summer.

Viktor has wanted this man to fuck him till he can’t walk since he was fifteen. Tender affection blends oddly with savage desire, but the final concoction sits heavy and hot in Viktor’s gut.

 

* * *

 

“You look tense, Yuuri,” Viktor says over dinner. It’s different with just the two of them, almost intimate. Yuuri looks surprised each time Viktor joins him, like he half-expects Viktor to prefer to dine alone.

He wonders if Yuuri is lonely. He could help with that.

“I’m alright,” Yuuri says, smiling tightly. “Been a long day, that’s all.”

Viktor mulls over an idea for the rest of dinner and while he dries the dishes. And before Yuuri can leave for his room, Viktor catches him by the sleeve.

“You know,” he says, “I’ve been told I have clever hands. I could give you a massage.”

And Yuuri protests because he’s Yuuri, but Viktor’s persuasive when he wants something which Yuuri finds out the hard way.

Yuuri looks a little dazed to find himself shirtless on the couch with Viktor at his back, hands digging into oiled muscles. His deviant intentions aside, he wasn’t joking about being a good masseuse. He works over the knots on Yuuri’s shoulders ravenously eyeing the glorious expanse of his back. His cock is half-hard and he presses his hips to the back of the couch, biting his lips to hold back a hiss of pleasure. The sounds Yuuri is making, faint, ragged groans that seem torn out of his throat, don’t help abate the need burning in his veins.

When he’s done, he stays safely hidden behind the couch, smiling prettily when Yuuri blushes and averts his eyes and stammers out a thank you.

He hurries out of the living room, leaving his shirt on the couch.

Later, Viktor buries his nose in the dark, musky scent on the shirt, three fingers in his ass and still not enough, and strokes his cock until he comes all over himself to the memory of Yuuri’s muscles shifting under his palms.

 

* * *

 

Things are awkward for a while after that, which is not unexpected but also no less disappointing. Viktor acts like nothing’s changed until Yuuri eventually calms down, and they return to their old routine.

Except, not quite.

The heat only rises, giving Viktor the perfect excuse to lounge around in crop tops and shorts that barely cover his ass.

Yuuri tries not to look but he _does_ , and Viktor, who’s perfected watching Yuuri into an art form, doesn’t miss it.

Took him long enough; it’s been six months since Viktor came here, one week since Yuri left. Viktor was starting to wonder what drastic measures he’d have to use.

It’s easy enough to rope Yuuri into watching a movie with him. Viktor tilts his head just the right way, and bats his lashes, and makes noises about being _lonely_ – and Yuuri crumples like wet tissue. The movie he picks is horror, a scary one with jumpscares. When the time comes, Viktor doesn’t even have to entirely fake his shrieks or desperate grabs at Yuuri.

Yuuri isn’t unmoved, but the sweat beading at his brow and the low gasps slipping from his lips seem to be more from the way Viktor has practically crawled into his lap rather than the crazed ghost tearing through teenagers on the screen.

Halfway through the climax, Viktor kisses him.

And Yuuri – for a moment, Yuuri kisses back.

Then he’s pushing Viktor away, eyes wide and white in the low, flashing light of the screen.

“Vitya, what are you-”

Viktor quiets him with another kiss, taking advantage of Yuuri’s parted lips to lick into his mouth. Yuuri makes a noise that goes straight to his dick, and Viktor grabs at his shoulders, clinging for strength as he deepens the kiss.

As expected, Yuuri pushes him away but the way he does it, hands fisting in Viktor’s hair and yanking his head back, makes pure need pulse through his veins.

“Yuuri,” Viktor groans, shuddering where he’s caught and held in place. “ _Please_.”

“What are you doing?” Yuuri asks and he’s horrified, but it doesn’t quite hide the telltale hoarseness of his voice.

“What I’ve wanted to do since I first set eyes on you,” Viktor says honestly. “I want you. Don’t you want me, Yuuri?”

Yuuri curses, rough and vehement, and pushes Viktor well off of him, standing up and backing away.

“This is – _wrong_. You’re my son’s age. You’re my son’s boyfriend. Jesus Christ, Viktor.”

Viktor says nothing, just pants from where he lies folded up on the couch and watches Yuuri with burning eyes. He doesn’t miss the way Yuuri’s eyes flick to his spit-slick mouth and darts away just as quickly.

Yuuri storms out of the room, and Viktor waits until he hears the slam of his bedroom door before following.

He strips on the way, making a detour to his own room to grab the shirt he appropriated from Yuuri. It’s white and thin and falls to his mid-thighs, the sleeves swallowing his arms, the collar leaving his clavicle exposed. He unwinds his hair from its messy bun, finger brushing it until it feathers down his back and over his shoulders.

Viktor doesn’t need a mirror to know what he looks like.

Yuuri’s door isn’t locked. Viktor takes it as a sign. But he’s not in bed either, though the sound of water from the en suite solves that mystery. Viktor arranges himself comfortably in the center of Yuuri’s bed and waits for him.

It feels like hours before Yuuri emerges from the bathroom, wet and naked, toweling his hair dry, not even seeing Viktor. He doesn’t make a sound, as much out of his design as sheer breathless shock at the sight of Yuuri so gloriously bared. His eyes are drawn south, to the forbidden things he has only been able to imagine for years. The reality is far, far better.

Yuuri drops the towel with a curse, and Viktor’s eyes shoot back up, meeting wide dark ones.

“What the fuck, Viktor?!” Yuuri bites out, swiping the towel from the floor to wrap it around his waist. “You’re – that’s my shirt.”

“Mine now,” Viktor replies, stretching on the bed so that the entirely of him is on full, obscene display. “You could be mine too. Or I could be yours. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

It’s kind of adorable, the way Yuuri stares at him like he can’t believe what’s happening. It’s an expression he’s never seen on calm, severe Mr. Katsuki or the gentle, patient father of Yuri Plisetsky. Viktor drinks it in greedily, hoarding it in some deep, secret place within himself.

“Why are you doing this?” Yuuri whispers in the end. “This isn’t a game, Viktor.”

Viktor bares his teeth in a smile and sits up, leaning forward so that his hair falls forward.

“Game? It’s never been a game. I didn’t build my future around you, Yuuri, because I wanted to play a fucking game.”

“Yuri–”

“He’s a nice boy. But I don’t want nice boys, Yuuri. I want men a little rough around the edges. And you are, aren’t you, for all that you play at kindness?”

Yuuri’s lips thin threateningly, doing little to stifle the thrill shuddering down Viktor’s limbs.

He slides out of bed and stalks towards his target, viciously satisfied to see Yuuri stand his ground.

“I don’t need to stay here, you know. My parents left me enough money to live like a king for a decade or more. I didn’t choose this no-name university because I can’t reach higher places. I didn’t stay in this hellhole country because of the scenery. It’s _you_.”

He’s close enough to feel the heat emanating from Yuuri and breathe in the scent of him, something pleasant and fruity.

Viktor rises on his tiptoes and whispers his next words into Yuuri’s ear.

“All I want is you.”

“You’re insane,” Yuuri breathes, disbelief and horror warring in his voice. “You’re gambling with your future, Viktor.”

Viktor settles back on his feet but doesn’t remove the arms he’s got twined around Yuuri’s neck. This close, he can see the cracks in Yuuri’s pale pink lips and the mesmerizing depth of his pupils.

“I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you. I waited, I was patient, I hoped it would go away, but it didn’t and it _won’t_ , and _please_ , Yuuri, I need you.”

Yuuri’s mouth is still and tight under his when Viktor kisses him. He pulls back just enough to see Yuuri’s eyes and says, “Don’t try to hide it. I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I can’t see.”

Silence answers him, and Viktor takes that as permission to undo the knot on Yuuri’s towel and slide his palm against his cock. Yuuri makes a strangled sound and a hand flies up to grab Viktor’s shoulder.

Viktor barely notices, shivering at the hot, silky length in his grip. Yuuri’s _thick_ , the feel of him a better reality than mere sight, and Viktor would love to have it ruin him forever.

Yuuri’s hand tightens on his shoulder and one forceful push is all it takes to send Viktor staggering back, tripping over the edge of the bed and falling on his back on the mattress, bouncing helplessly. The movement makes his – Yuuri’s – shirt ride up, exposing his half-hard dick.

“Fuck.”

It takes him a moment to realize that the word came from Yuuri, not him. He finds him staring between Viktor’s legs, eyes wide, lips parted, almost in wonder.

Viktor squirms up the bed and spreads his legs, leaving everything exposed to Yuuri’s eyes.

It’s startling, how quickly wonder morphs into something gleaming and predatory.

“You’ll regret this,” is what Yuuri says, but his strides are long and sure as he walks over to the bed and climbs in, crawling until he’s poised over Viktor.

“Try and make me,” Viktor tells him, challenge and defiance wrapped in temptation.

The kiss is sudden and brutal, teeth digging into Viktor’s lip until he gasps out in pain, a hot, wet tongue sliding inside with little ceremony, sealing Viktor’s breath and his thoughts. Yuuri tastes like toothpaste, something fresh and minty, but under that is the maddening taste of heated flesh burrowing into Viktor’s palette.

He’s panting when Yuuri pulls back, shuddering anew as he spots a string of saliva connecting their mouths. Yuuri doesn’t even let him catch his breath, descending on Viktor with unrestrained hunger, sucking on his tongue until Viktor groans and fucking into his mouth with little, teasing thrusts that make him cling to the hard muscles shifting in Yuuri’s back. Yuuri kisses like he’s trying to devour Viktor, split him open and eat him alive.

When Yuuri finally has his fill, Viktor’s achingly hard and high on desperation.

Yuuri seizes the collar of Viktor’s shirt and _yanks_ , buttons scattering about them as the fabric is ripped off. Viktor moans, turned on beyond belief by the sensation and mournful of the loss.

“I liked that shirt,” he manages to say, the playful whine in his voice lost on Yuuri’s cold marble expression.

He backs away, only so he can grab Viktor by the hips and flip him over, the rest of him helplessly following the wordless order. Both of Yuuri’s hands settle on his sides, pulling up him on to all fours.

Viktor is almost prepared for the touch on his ass, large palms smoothing over the cheeks before grabbing generous handfuls, simply squeezing for a second before they pull them side, exposing Viktor’s hole.

It’s rough and lewd and everything Viktor has ever wanted. He bites his lips hard, uncertain if he’s dreaming, but pain sizzles down his spine and copper stings his tongue, and Yuuri’s breath still falls hot on ass.

Then the touch is gone and Viktor is left cold in its wake. He feels the bed move as Yuuri leaves it.

“Why did you–”

“Quiet,” Yuuri growls, and Viktor snaps his mouth shut.          

That’s fine. Yuuri can be as angry as he wants as long as it’s Viktor he takes it out on.

The first slick touch on his rim is a shock, and Viktor seizes up on instinct, which makes the finger that slides inside that much more of a shock. Yuuri’s not gentle and entirely mechanical as he prepares Viktor, almost as if he’s trying to make Viktor tell him to _stop_.

Viktor’s cock leaks with each stab of pain, and the increasing fullness inside of him only makes him push back, taking Yuuri’s fingers deeper and deeper until there are three buried to the hilt in his ass, longer and thicker than his own and on the pleasant side of too much. Viktor has a feeling that Yuuri can and will push him over that line, but he only crooks his fingers one last time, quick and wicked, and pulls the out just as swiftly.

The sudden emptiness makes him cry out, hands buckling a little before he pushes himself back up.

“Do you want to stop?” Yuuri asks, quiet and almost gentle. Viktor looks over his shoulder and almost laughs when the expression on Yuuri’s face in all wild hunger, nothing of kindness evident in those lines.

“Fuck me until I cry,” Viktor tells him. “And then fuck me some more.”

Yuuri’s eyes narrow, and then he’s mounting Viktor, cockhead teasing his rim while his weight comes down over Viktor’s back. It makes him tremble, breath coming in pants, because he’s fantasized about this, so many times, but the real, solid weight of Yuuri still takes his breath away, makes his mind go blank, reducing him to a coil of pulsing sensation.

He thinks he feels Yuuri’s mouth brush his nape, but the next moment, all is lost in a scream as Yuuri fucks into him in one, hard shove.

He’s too full too fast, elbows giving away and cries fluttering in his throat as he struggles to adjust and fails because Yuuri’s moving already, pulling out and thrusting in, leaving Viktor achingly empty and suffocatingly full in turns. He bites his arm, teeth sinking into flesh and sending pain jolting through him, but it’s not enough to muffle the sounds that are torn out of him; rough, ragged things that echo with the exquisite pleasure-pain assaulting his body.

Yuuri keeps his steady pace, in and out and in and out, pressing impossibly deeper with each harsh stroke. He’s silent above Viktor, his hands and cock doing the talking for him.

Viktor almost gets used to the sweet violence of it when Yuuri grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks him up, forcing Viktor to gasp out his need into the open air. The room fills with his sounds, moans and gasps and keening whines, and Yuuri picks up speed, slamming into Viktor, ruthlessly wrecking him. Tears spill down his face, and he tastes salt on his tongue as he cries out mangled versions of Yuuri’s name.

Yuuri’s lips are then there at his ear, brushing the shell teasingly.

“You won’t touch my son,” Yuuri commands, punctuating the words with a brutal thrust.

Viktor can’t reply with Yuuri’s hand holding his head far back enough that his neck hurts so he gasps and shudders and clenches against the cock breaking him apart, hot to the core at the dark possessiveness in Yuuri’s voice.

His hair’s released all of a sudden and Viktor hangs his head, coughing and heaving for breath.

“Why shouldn’t I?” he asks when he finds his voice. “Yura’s such a pretty boy, and don’t you see how he adores–”

Yuuri’s hand clamps hard around his throat.

Viktor chokes, eyes bulging as his vision grays. Yuuri’s hand is like a vice around his neck, and he can’t – he can’t _breathe_.

He claws at him, nails tearing at the hand on his neck. It’s maddening, his mouth gasping for scarce air and ass convulsing around that relentless cock, terror and pleasure warring in his veins. His cock is hard, swaying between his legs with each of Yuuri’s thrusts, and the pressure on his throat does little to ease his arousal, only sends it rocketing higher as Yuuri literally holds his life in his hands.

The grip is gone as suddenly as it came, and Viktor is left dragging in huge lungfuls of breath that burn him all the way down.

“I’m sorry,” Viktor gasps, on the verge of sobbing and so, so hard. “Please, Yuuri–”

He’s not allowed to finish before Yuuri’s hand is over his mouth, pressing none too gently in a clear command of silence. Viktor breathes through his nose and writhes around the cock in him and comes untouched when a particularly vicious thrust rocks him forward into Yuuri’s silencing hand.

Eyes blank and noises cease, his orgasm ripping through his senses, but Yuuri only keeps going, fucking Viktor deep and hard even as he goes limp in his arms. It feels like Yuuri’s cock in his ass is the only thing keeping him upright, the pleasure assailing his body all that’s keeping him sensate. Yuuri’s hand is still over his mouth, the skin of his palm smooth and calloused, and Viktor parts his mouth against it, flicking his tongue out for a greedy taste.

Yuuri makes a broken noise and spills hot inside Viktor.

It makes him whimper, clenching helplessly around Yuuri and pulling another wordless sound from him. He rocks into Viktor as he comes, filling him up until come drips out of his hole, a single hot trail trickling down his balls. It’s a hazy realization that they didn’t use protection, but when Yuuri removes his hands and pulls out of him, Viktor doesn’t have the energy to do anything but slump face-down on the bed.

It’s a while before Yuuri speaks.

“Are you…okay?”

Viktor makes a vaguely assenting noise.

“Viktor,” Yuuri sighs. “Did I hurt you?”

Viktor summons the energy to wave an arm in the air.

Yuuri huffs, audibly displeased.

“You should leave then.”

“Can’t,” Viktor says, his voice sounding like it’s being dragged through a vegetable grater. “Too fucked out.”

Yuuri says something that sounds like a curse, but Viktor’s too tired to actually hear. He’s no stranger to good sex, not even mind-blowing sex, but this – he’ll remember this till the day he dies. He can still feel the phantom sensation of Yuuri’s dick inside him, carving him open and driving him wild, and it makes him shudder, fingers twitching weakly against the sheets.

There’s the sound of running water. Viktor never even noticed Yuuri leave the bed.

He manages to flop over, wincing a little when his ass twinges. Come leaks out of him, and Viktor realizes that no one has ever come inside him before. He’s never slacked when it comes to protection, except now, with Yuuri.

It makes this feel special, almost like a first time.

He’s had his fair share of fantasies about that – of dashing Mr. Katsuki fucking him against the walls of the gym and taking his virginity. But it was too hard to wait and much easier to just find pretty boys with dark hair and dark eyes who looked at Viktor like he was the world. Until Yuri – Viktor would be sorry for what he’s doing to that boy, but with his body still tingling from Yuuri’s hands and Yuuri’s cock, it’s hard to be anything but elated.

Yuuri soon emerges, still naked and with a small towel in his hands. His expression darkens at the sight of Viktor staring at him, and he’s not sure if anger or lust is the reason.

He throws the towel on to the bed and grabs hold of Viktor’s ankle, swiftly, effortlessly dragging him through the mattress.

Viktor’s first, startled thought is that Yuuri’s going to physically throw him out, but Yuuri stops when Viktor’s ass is on the edge of the bed. He drops to his knees on the floor, propping Viktor’s legs on his shoulders, and grabs both cheeks, spreading them wide to expose his hole.

“Wait,” Viktor gasps, squirming in Yuuri’s grasp. “That’s embarrassing!”

And it _is_ because Yuuri’s staring so intently there, like he’s admiring his handiwork, and for the first time in a long time, Viktor’s feeling self-conscious.

“Really,” Yuuri says, oddly bland. “I didn’t think you knew what shame was.”

And then he buries his face in Viktor’s ass.

The first swipe of his tongue is an electric shock, making Viktor jerk and arch up, spine twisting delicately as he tries to shy away from that touch. But Yuuri’s hands keep him in place as his tongue slides inside Viktor, the passage easy and smooth with his hole so fucked out. Viktor can’t help the way his legs clamp around Yuuri’s head or how he pushes his ass towards his mouth, face flaming and blood burning as Yuuri eats out his own come from Viktor’s ass.

It’s unlike anything that’s been done to him, and Viktor throws his head back and _howls_ as Yuuri’s tongue and lips work at his oversensitive walls.

By the time he’s done, Viktor’s gasping for air and fully erect, his cock standing proud and curved between his legs.

Yuuri doesn’t do more than give it a perfunctory glance before he stands up, and Viktor whimpers with a full body shudder when he sees that Yuuri’s hard too.

“Can you take it?” Yuuri asks, absently thumbing Viktor’s knees.

Viktor swallows twice and nods.

“Say it.”

“Yes,” he rasps. “Please just fuck me.”

And Yuuri does, taking Viktor on his back, legs in the air, hands twisting in the sheets, his body rocking violently on the bed with each devastating thrust. His entire mind is reduced to the heat and thickness inside of him, sliding out of his sloppy hole with every other stroke before Yuuri pushes right back in, the head prying Viktor inexorably open.

He comes this time with Yuuri’s hand on his dick, a single stroke all that’s needed to make him spill over them both. Yuuri muffles a cry as Viktor convulses around him and follows, fresh fire painting Viktor’s insides.

Viktor can’t even open his eyes this time and just lies there, nearly senseless, until Yuuri wipes him down with the towel and bodily shifts him so he’s lying away from their mess.

Yuuri lies down beside him, head resting on a bent arm, looking down at Viktor with an unreadable expression.

 _Regret it yet?_ – he seems to ask.

“I won’t touch Yura. I won’t touch any other man. I’ll let you do anything you want to me, as long as you keep fucking me like this.”

Yuuri’s eyes narrow in the wake of Viktor’s proclamation, liquid brown boring into his soul.

“I don’t think,” Yuuri finally says, “that you know what you’re saying.”

“I–”

“Sleep,” Yuuri interrupts, placing one finger firmly on Viktor’s mouth. “This is enough for tonight. Just sleep.”

Viktor does, slipping into dreamless slumber with Yuuri a warm weight by his side.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I'm continuing this after all.

 

Yuri returns on a Wednesday night, his arrival announced by a familiar shriek which probably means that Yuuri went in for one of his rare hugs and Yuri, torn between enjoying the affection and keeping a cool façade, sank into his arms while screaming to be released. It’s a sight Viktor has only seen once or twice in all the years he has known both father and son, but it’s memorable, warmly so.

He doesn’t feel so warm now.

Viktor turns off his lamps and pulls the covers over himself, studiously faking sleep. He hears his door open several minutes later, but there are no footsteps approaching him, just a murmured word too low to be heard and the quiet click of the door closing.

He doesn’t want to face Yuri right now. It’s still not guilt, no matter what Yuuri might think. Viktor kissed those morals goodbye a long time ago.

But Viktor’s angry – Yuuri hasn’t touched him since that first night. They had _days_ left, but Viktor woke up the next morning to a cold bed and an empty house. Yuuri didn’t come home until well after midnight and ignored Viktor waiting up for him, walking past the couch like he was mere air. The two days that followed were much the same. Now, Yuri’s here, and Viktor’s furious, and he doesn’t trust himself not to take it out on him.

He bolts upright the next moment, staring with unseeing eyes into the darkness of the room.

He doesn’t trust himself not to hurt Yuri for Yuuri’s sins.

Except–

What’s stopping him?

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t see Yuri until the next afternoon.

Breakfast is just him and Yuuri, and it’s the first time they’re together at the dining table since they fucked. Yuuri looks superbly uncomfortable and shoots increasingly desperate glances towards the stairs. But Yuri doesn’t grace them with his presence and doesn’t even seem to wake until the sun’s well overhead.

By then, Yuuri is at the shelter and only Viktor is home. This time, he doesn’t hide from Yuri.

He’s shirtless in bed, reading a shitty fantasy romance when Yuri throws open his door and marches inside. Niceties like knocking seem to escape his boyfriend half the time, and Viktor learned early on in his stay to lock the door if he wanted his privacy intact.

“Hey,” Yuri greets, dropping on the bed beside Viktor. “I’m back.”

“Missed me?” Viktor asks, a corner of his mouth twisting up into a half-smile, half-smirk.

Yuri rolls his eyes but there’s fondness in them when he leans down to kiss Viktor.

Viktor blocks his mouth with his book and smoothly rolls away to the other side of the bed, sitting up and flipping his loose hair over his shoulders to shoot Yuri a picture-perfect smile.

“We should break up,” he says cheerfully.

Yuri, though, barely seems to hear. He has eyes only for the bruises around Viktor’s throat. Stunned greens stray down, and Viktor’s shorts hang low enough on his hips that the finger-shaped marks on his skin is quite visible. They’re faded from their original angry red but there can be no mistaking what they are.

Yuri is incandescent in his fury.

“You,” he spits, eyes blazing. “You motherfucker, you cheated on me.”

There’s a dark, vindictive part of Viktor that wants to casually correct that into _fatherfucker_ and let the conversation follow its natural course but – well, he hasn’t given up hope yet. Besides, he’s no home-wrecker. He wants Yuuri, endlessly, ravenously. And sheer lust may have made him forget himself and fuck Viktor, but he loves his son more than he’ll ever care for Viktor.

And that’s fine, really. He doesn’t want Yuuri in love with him, he just wants him to need Viktor as violently as Viktor needs him.

But it does mean that he has to watch his mouth with Yuri.

So he shrugs, a careless motion that further exacerbates Yuri’s temper.

“It’s not like we were ever that good together, you know. The only reason you went out with me was because you can’t get the one you really want. Don’t tell me you fell for me along the way, Yura.”

Yuri, for a moment, is too enraged to respond. But there’s a flicker in his eyes, a flash of pain, and that’s all the answer Viktor needs.

“Oh, you poor darling,” Viktor croons, startled into genuine laughter. “You should know boys like me will break your heart.”

Yuri’s fist flies at him, and Viktor twists out of its way, lightly leaping off the bed. His own fists ball at his sides, a precaution more than anything. He doesn’t like physical altercations, but Yuri and Yuuri were the ones who taught him to fight. It would be a pity to let their lessons go to waste.

Surprisingly, Yuri doesn’t try to hit him again. He doesn’t even leave the bed, just glares at Viktor with a surprisingly lost expression.

“Why?” he asks, voice oddly subdued. “Why would you do this?”

“Because you weren’t what I needed,” Viktor tells him, a half-truth at best. “And I tired of pretending it was enough.”

Yuri’s all but trembling with anger and hidden grief when he leaves the bed and the room, not so much as sparing Viktor a glance. It’s not like him, but it is in a way. Viktor has seen him like this, during fights with Yuuri where Yuri blew up and blustered but fled the scene before his tears slipped through.

He’s really such a good boy.

There are times Viktor wishes, a little wistfully, that he never laid eyes on Katsuki Yuuri.

 

* * *

 

Yuri leaves the house, doesn’t return.

Yuuri does, and _oh_ , he’s a hurricane.

He’s only ever been respectful to Viktor, bar that one glorious night, always mindful of his space and treating him as if he were truly a part of this house. Tonight, there’s none of that to be found. He slams through Viktor’s door and stalks inside, so loud and startling that Viktor’s on his feet before he even registers who it is.

He relaxes when he sees it’s Yuuri, though the tight anger twisting his face is far from reassuring.

“What have you done?” he asks, and there’s something like betrayal in his voice which Viktor thinks is rich, all things considered.

“You’ll have to be more specific, Yuuri,” Viktor answers, looking disinterestedly down at his nails. “I’ve done a lot of things lately.”

Yuuri’s touch comes as a shock. His hands are rough and tight on Viktor’s shoulders, the contact burning his skin and making his breath catch. Viktor idly considered sometimes that maybe once he slept with Yuuri, the raw power of his attraction would settle down. It has become clear after the act that only the opposite is happening.

Viktor leans into Yuuri, loosely wrapping his hands around his waist. Yuuri stiffens in his hold but doesn’t pull away.

“Yura called me from Otabek’s home, said he’s staying there. He didn’t say how long or why. I ask again, Viktor. What did you do?”

“I broke up with him,” Viktor answers and the grim resignation settling over Yuuri’s face tells him that he expected this. Yuuri tries to step away, but Viktor clings to him. “He knows I cheated.”

The expression on Yuuri is tortured, and there’s vicious satisfaction curling in Viktor’s chest, but there’s pity too, soft and tinged with guilt.

Ah, but this man makes him weak.

Viktor has to kiss him, and when Yuuri makes a strangled sound and breaks out of his embrace, Viktor tells himself that he’s just upset.

“It’s okay,” he says soothingly. “I didn’t tell him it was you. And I won’t. I wouldn’t do that to you, Yuuri.”

Yuuri looks like he’s not sure if he can believe Viktor. There’s a fissure of hurt at that, and Viktor reaches for Yuuri, snagging the front of his shirt.

“You’re the one who told me to leave him. Why are you punishing me for it?”

Yuuri makes a helpless gesture, face twisting in ways Viktor can’t identity. He steps back, out of Viktor’s reach, and Viktor makes a mournful noise.

“Viktor, you have to see – what we did, what you want, it _can’t happen_.”

“What _I_ want?” Viktor asks, deathly quiet. “Are you still trying to pretend you don’t want me? Did you forget everything you did that night, Yuuri? I can remind you. I still wear the marks.”

He gestures at his throat, not missing the way Yuuri’s eyes cloud over with guilt.

“I can’t talk about this with you,” Yuuri says, turning away, as if they both don’t know all too well that there is no one Yuuri can discuss this with, no one who won’t judge him for it.

“Who else then?” Viktor asks his back. “Yura? You’re going to him now, aren’t you? Will you tell him, Yuuri, how you fucked me so hard, how I screamed and broke apart in your arms? How you choked me until I thought I’d die? Go on. He’ll enjoy it.”

Yuuri freezes for a second. Then he twitches forward, away from Viktor.

“ _Yuuri_ , don’t go.” Viktor darts forward, catching Yuuri by the hand. “Let him work through it. You know he needs time.”

Yuuri doesn’t even spare him a glance when he shakes off Viktor’s hand. He still doesn’t make it to the door when Viktor’s next words stop him short.

“Is he really so much prettier than me that you’re running to him tonight?”

It’s the nastiest thing he could have said and Viktor knows it, but it’s with triumph searing his ribs that he watches Yuuri whip around, one hand raised for a strike. He closes his eyes, breath hitching, but the blow never comes.

When he peeks through the arms he raised instinctually, he finds Yuuri with his fists raised and trembling, the full force of his righteous fury aimed at Viktor.

“Please,” Viktor gasps. “You can hit me.”

Yuuri’s hands drop to his sides. Viktor steps closer, beseeching, lifting his hands to cup Yuuri’s face.

“You can hit me, hurt me. You can let out your anger, cut out your pound of flesh. I’ll take it, Yuuri, I’ll take it all. Please don’t leave.”

The slap echoes in the room, the flat of Yuuri’s palm thudding into his flesh, the violence of it sending him sprawling. He tentatively reaches up to finger the abused flesh, hissing when the skin under his touch hurts in a numb, tingling kind of way.

There’s heat in his veins, pumping steadily down.

He looks up at Yuuri, finds him staring down with Viktor with the same expression from that night, all wild hunger. Whatever he sees on Viktor’s face makes him stride forward and grab him by the hair, finger sinking into the strands and yanking Viktor to his knees.

“Yuuri–”

“Quiet. Open your mouth.”

Viktor shuts up and obeys, because he can be _good_ for Yuuri, and watches impatiently as Yuuri fumbles one-handedly at his belt. He makes a low, hungry noise in his throat when the bulge in Yuuri’s underwear comes to sight. His cock, once freed, makes his mouth water, all thick and pretty even when half-hard.

Viktor leans in, and Yuuri lets him, guiding his length into Viktor’s mouth. Viktor sucks obediently, swiping his tongue over the silken skin, moaning helplessly when it hardens further in his mouth. He has to pull back a little to accommodate, but when he tries to wrap his hand around the base, Yuuri gives a warning growl and he stops, letting it drop back into his lap. The cheek Yuuri slapped stings with each motion, twinging strangely, but Viktor is high on the scent and taste of Yuuri and barely notices.

He closes his eyes and gives himself over to his task, sucking on the head and prodding at the slit, shuddering when precum drips onto his tongue. Yuuri allows it, as still as a statue, for a few long seconds.

Then he drives his cock into Viktor’s mouth.

It hits the back of his throat and he gags, throat convulsing helplessly, hands flying up to clutch at Yuuri’s hips. It earns him no mercy, just Yuuri pushing inexorably forward, burrowing deeper and deeper into Viktor’s mouth until the whole the damned length of him is choking him. Viktor swallows desperately around him, clawing at Yuuri’s thighs and struggling to meet his eyes. Yuuri’s staring at him, Viktor all that he can see, but his eyes are flinty and cold, running him through without mercy.

Viktor could die like this.

Yuuri pulls out all of a sudden, and Viktor greedily gulps in the air, the respite short-lived. Yuuri fucks back into him in one, savage thrust, and Viktor has no choice but to open up and take it, body jerking and squirming as his mouth is held in place and ravaged. His cock strains against his shorts, staining the front, but he has no hands to spare for it, not when his nails sunk into Yuuri’s legs are all that’s keeping him grounded.

His lips and cheek hurt, stretched wide around Yuuri’s generous girth, and his throat aches more and more with each brutal thrust, but there’s a perverse pleasure in it, a sense of being pried open and _used_.

Viktor finds it easier to close his eyes and let go, his entire being reduced the sensation of Yuuri’s cock fucking his mouth, hot and thick and perfect.

He doesn’t know how long it does. The room is silent except for his ragged moans. Yuuri’s silent in this sweet violence, and Viktor _adores_ him.

“Close your eyes,” is all the warning he gets before Yuuri pulls out.

Viktor keeps his eyes shut even when slick heat splashes over his face, some on his lips and tongue, bitter and tangy. He swallows around another moan, shuddering anew as Yuuri’s come drips down his chin.

He peers up at Yuuri and finds him already tucking himself away. Be barely looks at Viktor before sweeping out of the room. Viktor knows where he’s going but doesn’t care to stop him, not when he finally knows that Yuuri will come right back to him.

So he curls in on himself, presses two fingers to his freshly bruised cheek, and slips a hand into his shorts.

He spills all over himself three quick strokes later, the taste of Yuuri’s come still hot on his tongue.

 

* * *

 

He sits on the couch, gazing blankly at the muted TV while icing his face. Yuuri’s been gone for an hour and in the mean time, his cheek has swollen, red and angry. Viktor pokes at it now and then, shivering each time at the thrill of pain. His thoughts are less pleasant.

Eventually, there’s the sound of a car in the drive, familiar, and Viktor turns off the TV, jumping to his feet. He stands, listening intently, and at the sound of the front door opening, he flees, not far, just past the door to the hallway, where he can lurk in the shadows and watch what happens. Yuuri enter soon, shoulders slumped, hair in disarray like he ran his hands through it many, many times. He looks defeated.

Yuri doesn’t follow him in.

Viktor tentatively steps back into the room. Yuuri doesn’t see him, too caught up in whatever’s going on in his mind, until Viktor is close enough to touch his arm. Then, his head jerks up, tired eyes meeting Viktor’s and sharpening, a flash of _something_ flickering in them before they settle into cold, unreadable brown.

“He’s not coming back yet?” Viktor asks.

Yuuri’s answer is to catch him by the chin, his thumb digging painfully into Viktor’s bruised cheek. He gasps in spite of himself, and Yuuri lets go as if burned, only for the hand to wander into Viktor’s hair and tangle in the loose knot, grabbing it none too gently by the base. Viktor can only stumble along as he’s dragged to the couch and made to bend over it, hands gripping its back, spine a sinuous curve that pushes his ass out towards Yuuri.

When Yuuri steps closer, Viktor can feel that he isn’t hard, not yet, but he can feel the roughness of his jeans on the skin of his ass through the thin fabric of his shorts. It makes his breath hitch, desire shooting hot through him alongside a streak of fear.

Viktor doesn’t say anything even when Yuuri drags his shorts down his legs, just enough to bare his ass, the elastic waist making it hang precariously around Viktor’s knees. It makes spreading his legs awkward, though he does try when Yuuri’s hand slips between his cheeks to roughly seek out his hole. His hand is dry and rough as it rubs at his rim, the sensation an electric thrill that makes Viktor bite hard at his lips, trembling in mingled dread and anticipation. Yuuri never says a word, and Viktor can’t make his tongue move, a complicated blend of need and caution keeping him still and compliant.

He wants this, he wants anything Yuuri can give him, and he already promised Yuuri to let him hurt Viktor as needed. The fear is for what happens after, but then the tip of Yuuri’s finger slides inside of him and Viktor’s mind blanks.

It’s barely enough to feel, but even the faint stretch is harsh without anything to ease its way. Viktor’s rim spasms around the intrusion, torn between sucking it in and pushing it out, but Yuuri just stays still, keeping Viktor frustratingly open.

There are slick sounds from behind him, and Viktor freezes, wanting to turn around but kept down by Yuuri’s silent command.

Suddenly, Yuuri’s fingers leaves his ass, there’s more wet sounds, and a large blunt pressure at his hole.

That first rough exhale is punched out of Viktor’s lungs, a high-pitched moan following on the tail-end of it. Yuuri’s hand clamp hard around his hips, no doubt craving fresh finger-marks into Viktor’s pale, easily-bruised skin. He barely notices it, mind and sense lost to the cock working its way into him, slick and generously so but thick enough to make his mouth part in a wordless scream as he’s mercilessly pried open.

The sound doesn’t deter Yuuri and he offers no comfort, just pulls back an inch and presses in by two, implacably working Viktor open with his cock. Half-voiced gasps of Yuuri’s name fall on deaf ears, and even Viktor doesn’t know if he’s pleading for it to stop or for _more_ , but the latter is what Yuuri gives him, more of his thick, hot length, pushing into Viktor in short, brutal thrusts that makes him claw at the couch and gasp breathlessly, too open and full and held there, caught in place, helpless.

Between his legs, his own cock drips.

It’s an infinity later that Yuuri’s all the way in, and Viktor’s _burning_ , his blood fire and breath coal, boiling him from the inside. When Yuuri starts to move, short thrusts that turn deeper and harder, Viktor can only cling to the couch with weak arms and take it, feeling like a pretty rag doll being moved to his master’s whims. He feels his lips move, grunts and moans littered with broken cries of Yuuri’s name. It would be embarrassing how easy Yuuri wrecks him, but this, hard cock carving him open and strong hands holding him still, would make the most dignified of men weep in tortured pleasure.

The glancing pressure on his prostate is maddening and not enough, but Yuuri doesn’t seem to care, chasing his own pleasure in Viktor’s quivering body.

When he comes, it’s with a drawn out groan, and the heat filling him up only makes Viktor whimper and twitch weakly, hands and legs barely holding him up after what feels like hours of sweet, relentless assault.

Like Yuuri’s cock was the only thing keeping him up, he collapses once it’s out of him, wincing when his knees hit the floor hard. His ass hurts too, a steady, throbbing ache that only makes his cock pulse in sympathy. Viktor wants to wrap his hand around it, but moving is so hard, and he can only slump against the couch, heaving for breath.

There’s a touch on the small of his back, hesitant for a second before Yuuri’s palm firmly settles on his skin and strokes up his spine, inducing a shudder and a moan. Viktor falls easily to the hands that guide him, one at his shoulder, the other at his waist, to lean back into Yuuri. Yuuri’s clothes are cool against his sweat-soaked skin, and Viktor burrows into them. Yuuri shifts them both so that they’re sprawled more comfortably, Viktor nearly in his lap.

He tries to turn his head for a kiss but Yuuri’s mouth latches on to his neck, teeth sinking into sensitive skin. Viktor keens, one hand twisting in Yuuri’s hair. The other is caught in Yuuri’s, their fingers laced together in a gesture that tethers him to his body and the pressure pounding under his skin. Viktor nearly screams when Yuuri’s free hand wraps around his cock, a finger easing back the foreskin. Viktor glances down, a shuddering sigh escaping him at the sight of Yuuri’s hand around him, his fingers toying with the head.

It makes him squirm, caught between Yuuri’s hands and teeth and not wanting to be anywhere else, but needing more. Yuuri muffles what sounds like a laugh into Viktor’s skin, his mouth licking its way higher up Viktor’s neck before nibbling at the flesh, soft and nearly sweet for a moment before teeth comes out to play. His hand continues its ministrations, playing with Viktor’s cock like it’s an exceptionally interesting toy, the pressure and teasing strokes nowhere near enough to get him off but still sending sparks bursting along his nerves.

“Please,” Viktor murmurs, tilting his head obligingly when Yuuri’s mouth seeks out a new spot.

By the time Yuuri takes mercy on him and starts stroking in earnest, there’s a latticework of stinging bruises around Viktor’s neck and shoulders.

“Kiss me,” he moans, pawing weakly at Yuuri, and finally, Yuuri does, lips sliding almost gently against Viktor’s. A soft, tentative touch of tongue along his lips is what sets him off, cock spurting ropes of white in Yuuri’s hand while Viktor opens his mouth and drowns in his taste.

It takes him a long time to come down, Yuuri stroking him through his climax, each slide of his fist making him jerk as fiery waves of pleasure tear through his body. The aftermath finds him boneless in Yuuri’s arms, gasping for breath and blinking stars out of his eyes. Yuuri has his face buried in Viktor’s hair, an oddly tender gesture that makes a gentler kind of warmth bloom in his chest.

It’s doused the moment reality reasserts itself.

“So,” Viktor asks, forcing his voice to be steady and mostly failing, “are you going to kick me out now?”

Yuuri stiffens.

There’s no answer for a long time, and Viktor prepares himself for the worst.

“No,” Yuuri finally says. He hand tips Viktor’s head up and into a chaste kiss that makes his lips tingle. “I’m not. Neither is Yura.”

 

* * *

 

Some people are too kind.

It’s startling to understand that in this household, that role isn’t Yuuri’s but Yuri’s.

 

* * *

 

Yuri returns home the next day.

Viktor avoids him, considerate now that he’s sated and somewhat secure. There’s the first hint of guilt too, battling with the awareness that breaking up with Yuri will be as good for Yuri as Viktor.

He could have been kinder. But he has no right to regret the carefully calculated cruelty that got him exactly what he wanted.

The second day, avoidance doesn’t work as well. Viktor is sure that he heard Yuri leave the house but when he comes out for a snack, Yuri’s there in the kitchen, eating ice cream.

His eyes widen at the sight of Viktor, anger followed by pure horror.

Viktor touches his swollen cheek, wincing inwardly when he remembers the hickies littered over his neck and shoulders, bright and red and violent.

“Who did this to you?” Yuri asks, and this time, the pure, condensed rage in his voice is not directed at Viktor.

Yuri deserves so much better. But the world has never been kind or fair and neither is Viktor.

“No one important,” Viktor lies, summoning a smile. “And he didn’t do anything I didn’t want him to.”

That shocks Yuri, the anger draining out of him, so sudden that it leaves him limp in his chair.

It’s a long while before he speaks again. Viktor doesn’t really know why he stays to listen.

“Is this what you needed? Is this why you…did what you did?”

It’s not, not really, but it’s an easy way out and Viktor takes it.

“Yeah,” he nods, looking away from those gem-bright eyes.

“You never said anything.”

Viktor’s smile is a wry thing, one step shy of mocking.

“It’s not something you could have given me, Yura.”

That is the honest truth, and Yuri knows it.

When Yuri stalks past him, leaving ample space between them, Viktor doesn’t watch him go.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My tumblr: [orchard-of-bones](https://orchard-of-bones.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Picture of [ Viktor’s cock cage.](https://img1.wantitall.co.za/prodimages/silicone-cock-cage-chastity-cage-chastity-device-for-male-penis-exercise-with-5-rings-in-different-s__41yoLheK22L.jpg/)

Back when Viktor just moved in and things were at least outwardly normal, the three of them eating dinner together was a common occurrence.

Now, it rarely happens.

Usually, it’s Yuri and Yuuri, Viktor having enough kindness in him – conditional, always, because he’s possessive of Yuuri in his own way and will go to great lengths not to lose him the way he almost did – to leave father and son alone for those scarce moments where they can be a family. Sometime, though it’s rare, Yuri eats early and shoots out of the house like a bat out of hell. Those nights, Viktor and Yuuri eat together, stealing heady glances at each other while their limbs brush more than they ought to.

It’s a decent arrangement.

That’s why it’s jarring when one Friday night somehow finds all three of them gathered around the dining table, seated in their usual places and stubbornly pretending not to notice the tension in the air.

Yuuri and Yuri are opposite Viktor, both cutting their food with unwarranted concentration. It frees Viktor to look his fill. He and Yuri have been avoiding each other, but he finds himself glad to see that Yuri’s looking good. The scowl on his face is deeper than usual, but at least he’s not wasting away in heartbreak. Granted, that’s not like Yuri, but Viktor knows firsthand how crazy love can make you.

Well, love, lust, obsession – all the same, in the end.

Yuuri’s no different than usual, Viktor’s wet dream given flesh. Perhaps it’s more accurate to say that Yuuri’s flesh shaped Viktor’s wet dreams, but it’s all semantics in the end.

None of them speak. Yuri did, at the beginning, before he caught sight of Viktor, telling Yuuri that he was staying with Otabek this weekend. Viktor forces down a shudder at what that _means_ and tries to focus on his food.

It doesn’t work.

Yuuri won’t look at him.

He doesn’t really plan to do it. It’s just that his legs have been sifting restlessly under the table since he sat, and the way they brush Yuuri’s ankle under the small, cozy table is honestly an accident.

The slow, sensual ascent of it isn’t.

Viktor remembers, vividly, the time he tried this back when he was still playing at being sweet, nice Vitya. Yuuri flinched away then, tensed and babbled and ran, all while thinking Viktor made a foolish mistake born of youthful passion. He should know better now.

And he doesn’t run.

He doesn’t react much at all, to the point that the only way Viktor’s sure that he got the right leg is by the bare flesh brushing his feet. Yuri, all dressed to leave, is in jeans that cling to his legs like they’re painted on. Viktor appreciates the sight in a distant kind of way, but it’s Yuuri’s thick thighs that he wants around his neck, choking him.

Dinner passes like that – Viktor tracing teasing patterns up and down Yuuri’s calf, Yuri glaring down at his food, and Yuuri the very picture of serenity.

 

* * *

 

Yuri’s gone less than half an hour after dinner. Viktor doesn’t see him out, knowing it’s no longer his place, but he does linger in the hallway while he and Yuuri murmur their goodbyes in the foyer. There’s the sound of a motorcycle tearing out of the drive, then the familiar snick of the door locking. He almost goes back to his room, but something makes him stay put.

When Yuuri strides into the hall, Viktor just presses his back against the wall and waits.

For a moment, it seems like Yuuri will just stalk past him, but at the last second, his hand snags Viktor’s shirt and drags him along like a disobedient dog. It’s not an unreasonable comparison.

He’s not surprised when he’s thrown into Yuuri’s bed with careless strength. It’s been well established that Yuuri likes to manhandle him and that Viktor fucking loves it.

Viktor lies where he’s left, not bothering to arrange himself on the bed or even strip out of his clothes. He’s not wearing anything that Yuuri can’t yank away or rip off, and there’s no need to move when he’s in the perfect position to watch Yuuri’s ass and thighs as he roots through the bottom drawer of his desk. He returns with both hands clutching something, flashes of pink and silver visible between his fingers. Viktor’s gaze is soon drawn back to Yuuri’s face and the familiar emotion tightening it.

There’s anger, sharp and fiery, but mixed with something darker and sweeter that makes Viktor’s gut clench in anticipation. He’s already half-hard, has been from the moment Yuuri took him by the collar.

“Strip,” Yuuri says, making no attempt to join Viktor in bed.

Viktor obeys with haste, shimmying out of his shorts before sitting up and taking off his shirt. He isn’t wearing any underwear, and he still can’t tell if that particular slant of Yuuri’s eyebrows is meant to be approving or angry. Maybe he’s just enjoying the sight of Viktor’s dick, pretty and pink between his legs.

Yuuri likes looking at Viktor. He tries to hide it, but Viktor _knows_.

Yuuri throws the toys on the bed – and they are toys, Viktor’s sure though he’s never been allowed to peek inside or choose, just take what Yuuri gives him. That’s fine. He likes it that way. Usually, it’s just flavored lube or ribbed condoms or, on one memorable occasion, a cock ring, but a quick glance now shows him a curiously shaped plug and a pink–

A hand grips his cock and Viktor jolts, eyes screwing shut. There are spots of white swimming in his vision when he opens them to stare mesmerized at Yuuri’s hand curled around the base of him. The touch is gentle for a few, precious seconds and then it isn’t, Yuuri’s hand a rough vice around Viktor’s dick.

He yelps, instinctually trying to twist away from the touch, but Yuuri’s other hand holds him down with maddening ease, and there’s a limit to how much Viktor can struggle when his most sensitive part is at Yuuri’s mercy.

Mercy, though, is lacking in Yuuri because he doesn’t let up, just keeps up that cruel pressure until Viktor’s cock starts to soften.

“Hurts,” he breathes, blinking tears out of his eyes.

Yuuri doesn’t seem to hear or see.

When Viktor’s limp and heaving for breath, Yuuri lets him go and picks up the cock cage. It’s a pretty little thing, pastel pink and _cute_. Viktor can only stare with wide eyes and swirling incomprehension as Yuuri meticulously arranges the toy around Viktor’s cock and balls. It’s the quiet click of the tiny lock that brings Viktor back to his senses, or what little are left of them.

“Is this punishment?” he murmurs, trying to fake contrition but only managing to sound breathless and needy.

Yuuri doesn’t answer, checking the cock cage with a detached mien. It isn’t unusual for him to do this with Viktor, and maybe it’s a little fucked up that it turns Viktor on beyond measure.

But he’s in his ex-boyfriend’s dad’s bed, having slithered in there with careful calculation and no small amount of desperation. The situation was fucked up to begin with.

Yuuri turns his attention to the toys he dumped on the bed. Handcuffs, plain and silver, glint in his grip as he knee-walks to the head of the mattress. Viktor doesn’t even think, just raises his arms so that Yuuri can access his wrists. The cuffs are cold on his skin, and Viktor shudders involuntarily, fingers twitching. Yuuri strokes the edges of the metal, the pads of his fingers brushing Viktor’s skin tantalizingly. It’s such a little action, unspeakably erotic.

Viktor is acutely aware of the pressure of the cock cage, forcing down his arousal, except that leaves it no place to go but inwards. Fire crawls through his veins, scorching and suffocating.

He doesn’t even notice Yuuri settling between his legs until his thighs are unceremoniously shoved apart. And then Viktor can’t look away because this is a sight he’ll die for – Yuuri intense and intent, all for Viktor.

He watches Yuuri slick his fingers and reach down and then he feels him, warm and wet against his hole, two fingers sliding in to the first knuckle. Viktor bites his lip and tries to relax but Yuuri doesn’t let him, keep twisting his fingers and _pushing_ , like he’s commanding Viktor’s body to open up for him. And it does because god, Viktor’s weak, and the sweet ache of too much too fast is as thrilling as the fleeting pressure against his prostate.

It’s clear soon enough that Yuuri’s not trying to pleasure him. Three fingers spread and tug at his hole until Viktor can feel the strain in his lungs, and then they’re gone, leaving his rim twitching around nothing.

The whine that escapes his lips goes ignored.

The last toy is a plug, back and decently sized, but it’s the shape that punches Viktor’s breath out of him as it slides inside, rubbing and pulling at curious places, forcing him wide until it rests snugly against his prostate.

He clenches, helpless, and gasps Yuuri’s name when the thing digs into that maddening spot.

Yuuri still doesn’t speak. He just looks at Viktor, not at his face but at the toys on him. There’s a little pat on his knee, more condescending than comforting, and then Yuuri’s leaving, climbing out of the bed and striding out of the room. The door shuts softly behind him.

Viktor just stares, stunned and waiting for Yuuri to come back.

“Yuuri?”

No response.

“Yuuri!”

The vibrations start.

Viktor jerks violently, instinct making him pull at his arms only for the metal to bite painfully into his skin. He yelps a curse and strains his head, eyes widening when he finds the chain looped around one of the bars of the headboard. He doesn’t focus on it for long, the situation down below far more pressing.

Past the initial shock, the vibrations are tame, gentle waves of pleasure sweeping across Viktor’s skin. It still makes him squirm, legs closing and opening, his pink-clad cock getting squeezed between his thighs. He can’t get hard but need thrums in his veins, aching for an outlet, one that’s denied when his balls and dick are wrapped like a gift for Yuuri to play with. It hurts too, his helpless arousal forced back by the deceptively strong rings of the toy.

It’s a quick and startling realization that there will be no relief – he can’t move, can’t escape, and certainly can’t seek release. And Yuuri – Yuuri’s not even here.

Punishment, that must be it, but how does Yuuri expect Viktor to make up for it if he’s been _abandoned_?

He calls for Yuuri, voice breaking on the second syllable, turning the name into a high-pitched whine. There’s no movement, no answer, except there is because a beat later, the vibrations get _worse_.

Viktor freezes this time, clenching around the plug and biting down a scream when that just makes him all the more sensitive. He spreads his legs, blindly seeking comfort, but he can still feel his rim stretched wide around the plug and its maddening movements.

“I’m sorry,” he yells this time, twisting in the sheets and hoping against hope for Yuuri to suddenly appear, but the door remains closed and the walls are utterly unsympathetic to Viktor’s plight.

At least the vibrations don’t get stronger.

It’s not long before that’s cold comfort because it doesn’t matter how Viktor squirms and turns and contorts himself, the plug keeps vibrating, pulse after pulse of sensation slamming into Viktor, right at his prostate. He has to wonder if Yuuri planned this anyway and knows that he did, but it would be fine if only Yuuri were here, those implacable eyes on Viktor while he writhed and begged. It’s a special torment to be left alone and desperate, his voice not even reaching the man responsible for this.

He screams for Yuuri, a last ditch effort that spikes into a shriek when the plug amps up its vibrations before Viktor even finishes Yuuri’s name.

He arches off the bed, one foot stamping down hard on the mattress. He regrets it when the movement makes the plugs shift inside him, pressing even harder against his prostate. Shudders wrack his body, violent and relentless, and Viktor grits his teeth through it until he _can’t_ , until gasps and keening cries start spilling from his lips.

He doesn’t call for Yuuri again, doesn’t have the coherence for it, words stolen by the exquisite traps layering his body. His balls ache and his wrists sting. He’ll have bruises from the handcuffs, and he doesn’t care, just wants this to _end_.

Viktor’s a panting mess, tears drenching his face and voice lost to pain and pleasure, when someone joins him.

He doesn’t hear the door or the footsteps, doesn’t hear anything but the pounding of his heart, and it’s the hand on his face that clues him in. Yuuri brushes Viktor’s sweat-thick hair from his face, taking his chin between a thumb and a forefinger and tilting it towards. Viktor limply allows it, staring at Yuuri with a plea and an accusation on his face.

“Yuuri,” he croaks, even now making an aborted motion with his bound hands. “Make it _stop_.”

There’s no pity in Yuuri’s eyes but there is pleasure, dark and vicious, and this is the side of Yuuri Viktor never got to witness before he poked and prodded the sleeping lion until it sank its teeth into his throat.

Even now, there’s smug satisfaction at that, tendrils of his wrapping around him almost protectively, giving him the strength to smirk at Yuuri.

“I’ve had fantasies like this,” Viktor tells him, voice far from steady with the plug still wrecking his ass, but the unconcealed need gives his words a sharpness they carry well. “Strong, gentle Mr. Katsuki, not so gentle with his hands on me. I’d picture you angry, disappointed, and _god_ , it was glorious.”

Yuuri’s eyes are wide, surprised as he hasn’t been since those first few times Viktor approached him. It’s good to know he can still shock and scandalize this man who’s so damnably skilled in acting unflappable as he takes Viktor apart.

“Dreams come true,” Viktor murmurs, nearly biting through his tongue when a harsh shiver bolts through him. “Right, Yuuri?”

He knows _this_ look in Yuuri’s eyes – it’s the same one that preceded the backhand that once sent Viktor crashing to the floor. He tenses instinctively, preparing for the sting of a slap or the breathless panic of being choked, but all he gets are Yuuri’s fingers in his mouth, forcing their way past Viktor’s grinning lips, pressing down on his tongue as they slide deeper and deeper–

Viktor gags, throat convulsing and eyes screwing shut, but Yuuri holds fast, his fingers smooth and calloused and merciless.

“You tempt me sometimes,” he tells Viktor, “to rip out that tongue of yours.”

Viktor makes a disbelieving noise around Yuuri’s fingers because, really, that’s unfair when Yuuri has made no secret of how much he enjoys everything Viktor’s tongue can do.

He breathes through his nose and sucks on Yuuri’s fingers, rubbing the same tongue Yuuri just threatened along the soft pads, just the way he does to Yuuri’s cock. And it pays off, a hint of red creeping onto Yuuri’s cheeks as he stares mesmerized at where Viktor’s lips are stretched around his fingers.

Viktor closes his eyes and moans, lifting his hips off the bed in a silent plea.

And finally, Yuuri’s takes mercy.

He keeps his fingers stuffing Viktor’s mouth, the angle shifting and the tips digging uncomfortably into his cheeks as Yuuri bends over him, one knee on the bed, and feels between his legs with his free hand until it grips the base of the vibrator. He doesn’t pull it out immediately, looking at Viktor’s face instead, the glance measuring.

Viktor tries to looks as pitiful as possible, widening his teary eyes and whimpering around Yuuri’s fingers.

It happens suddenly, the sudden emptiness inside him as jarring as the lack of sensation. His can feel his hole flutter around nothing, stinging and a little numb, but needy.

Yuuri’s fingers pull out of his mouth just as quickly, and the ragged breath Viktor draws trails into a whine.

But he keeps quiet, only watching as Yuuri strips and climb between his legs, his glasses glinting in the light before those dark eyes come back to view. He spreads Viktor’s legs, fingers digging into his thighs. The cock cage isn’t even glanced at, Yuuri only having eyes for Viktor’s slightly abused hole. He doesn’t do anything either, just stares, eerily intent until Viktor’s face heats with that rare, embarrassed flush. The hunger in Yuuri’s gaze in familiar and tantalizing, but he’s just _looking_ , and Viktor never knows how to react when he does that.

“Yuuri, please.”

There’s a flicker of a glance at him, almost dismissive, but Yuuri does move, shifting his grip to take Viktor by the ass and lift, the angle perfect for Yuuri to press into him. The blunt pressure is more straining than usual, the slow slide inside tight and raw, and Viktor manages to gather between gasping breaths that Yuuri didn’t use more lube, just pushed in with whatever slickness remained inside Viktor.

It burns, Yuuri’s cock a solid brand inside him, and Viktor shifts helplessly, trying to squirm away from and into the pain at the same time.

Yuuri’s hands leave him, the sudden shift in angle making his cock slide out an inch, dragging along Viktor’s walls. He bites his lips and tastes blood but keeps still, pleasantly full of cock and unpleasantly stifled by the pastel pink cage.

Yuuri drives forward, not fucking Viktor but leaning over him, pushing impossibly deep anyway, and Viktor doesn’t know what he’s doing until there’s a quiet snick and the handcuffs fall away.

He doesn’t even know where Yuuri took the key from.

When Yuuri pulls back, he takes Viktor with him, strong muscles effortlessly hauling him upright until he’s seated on Yuuri’s cock, hyperaware of every scorching inch of it. He throws his arms around Yuuri’s neck and buries his teeth in his shoulder, muffling his whimpers. Yuuri’s moving almost instantly, little rocking thrusts that bounce Viktor on his lap. He’s so _deep_ like this, buried to the hilt and never really pulling out so Viktor’s forced to feel every burning inch of his cock.

He can’t breathe–

“Get it off,” Viktor gasps, pulling back to see Yuuri’s face and almost regretting it when that earns him a harder thrust and Yuuri’s hands clamping down on his hips. “Yuuri, please, the cage, let me–”

“Why is it there, Viktor?” Yuuri asks, his tone cold and cutting, as merciless as the increasingly rough strokes of his cock into Viktor.

“The – the dinner, I won’t do it again, I _won’t_ , so just–”

“I don’t believe you,” Yuuri says simply and proceeds to fuck all sense out of Viktor.

 _He’s strong_ , is all Viktor can think for a moment, a fact he’s always known but never stops being stunned by when all of that power is turned against Viktor, made a weapon that carves bruises on his flesh and leaves him throbbing deep, deep inside. All he can do is cling to Yuuri, caged cock bouncing between his legs as he’s made to ride him in sharp, jerky motions, their rhythm a savage, graceless thing.

At some point, Viktor starts begging, hoarse and hasty, stumbling over words and mangling Yuuri’s name as the sensation him builds and builds and _builds_ and digs and shudders, trapped without an outlet, the only release the relentless pace with which Yuuri’s cock drives into him. It’s enough and not, the pleasure a torturous excess even as it leaves him desperate for more. But there won’t be more, can’t be, until Yuuri takes pity on him, but mercy is the last thing he sees on Yuuri’s face, its handsome lines twisted cruelly into hunger and pleasure.

He’s the most beautiful thing Viktor has ever seen.

“Sir,” he gasps before he can help it. “Please, I won’t, I promise, I’ll be good, I’ll be so good, just take it off, let me come, I need it, please–”

It’s Yuuri’s mouth that silences him, his tongue pressing deep into Viktor’s mouth, stealing sense and thought as surely as the fever-hot burn of his cock.

Viktor’s the one who wrenches his mouth away, pulling in lungfuls of air and blinking at Yuuri through blurry eyes, another, weaker _sir_ slipping past his lips.

Yuuri finishes in him, the mind-melting heat of him plummeting Viktor into a frenzied shiver as violent as the one tearing through Yuuri.

It hurts when he pulls out, Viktor’s rim fluttering weakly around the soft head, and it hurts even more when Viktor’s pushed off of him, falling on his back on the bed with a breathless huff. He’s soaked in sweat and all but trembling, the aches and pains littering his body nothing in comparison to the need trapped under his skin.

“Yuuri,” he sobs, fresh tears sliding down his cheek as he futilely pulls at the cock cage.

Yuuri finally relents, reaching over to the other side of the bed and retrieving the key Viktor never even saw him put there. He’s gentle with the contraption, but Viktor still hisses at the sudden absence of pressure. He doesn’t waste any time, wrapping a hand around his cock and shivering from sensitivity when it fills in his grip.

Just like that, his hand is knocked away, and Yuuri’s looming over him again, dark eyes flashing in Viktor’s vision before he’s taken in a kiss. He opens up to it, clutching Yuuri’s shoulder instead of trying to jerk off again, surrendering with the same eerie ease Yuuri has inspired in him from the start.

It’s worth it when he feels Yuuri nudge his hole again, his cock not even all the way back to hardness but still sliding inside Viktor’s come-drenched hole in a single, smooth slide.

And when Yuuri’s hand wraps around his cock, Viktor just moans his gratitude against his mouth, breath hitching in a sob that’s swallowed by hot, hungry lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is appreciated.


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